13.11.12

Kein Aug hat je gespürt, Kein Ohr hat mehr gehört Solche Freude

no matter how well you thought you know them, the various people in one's life rides the wave of life, each heading to an appropriate yet different direction. in passing and weaving, one may see a familiar one in a particularly beautiful light- the light that enables us to see through the fog of daily mundane life.

in 2009 banff days, a few very kind, intelligent and gentle souls continued to lit up silent, demanding nights, where i was easily found, wood shedding in studio, early morning hours. felt chased and failing, i relied on these kind souls to fuel self, to take another step- borrowed, or rather, 'fed' hope into blood.

in daily setting, i rely on one of my best friends to keep me grounded, centered and resolved. he understands that being depressive does not mean that one is in need of a good cry. he doesnt say much. but i know his fists are held in fury when im mistreated. and he quietly sends me off to practice and gym, knowing that is the medicine that keeps me from keeling over.

people talk about over-reliance on social media and internet devices, how we forget to communicate with real people. my phone, however, often bursts with kind words from various people, including a particular minnow, who is willing to take that punch for me, thrown in frustration, quick to retract in embarrassment.

then there's a quiet friend who i have not seen in a long time, who has nourished me with warm bowl of soup and a lovely note, hiding in the jumble of grad lounge fridge madness when my dental surgery left me a bit pathetic.

and there's the igniter, who graduated from being a mere book bombing. shy as a wee child at times, he produces magical moments, really, rather shamelessly. and i am often surprised at the vignettes of his life- i can only hope his wings will grow stronger and stronger, to wake the people.

not to forget about the heron lady, who gracefully acknowledges her whole being, including the strong and the weak bits- and that's how she fly. herons arent meant to sprint. they are meant to fly.

though not often, there's the mystique writer who creates gossamer thin weave of lovely blanket which he sends occasionally- stories of taichi, leaves and quiet meditation. when i get the chance, i wrap self around with the blanket of words- to quietly sink into a hiding hole.

and many others- including my wee poor momdad and granny, who are like imaginary magical bean stalks, growing through and breaking my boundaries with unexpected answers, demands and love... all these people wakes me in the down deep of the grey sleep. this autumn has been very difficult and i found it challenging.

perhaps life does not give a challenge that is too big. may be it is the human weakness of 'die-trying' that breaks us. i now understand in my 30s that may be i should embrace the things i cannot uphold. to hold the world, i am not atlas. i will be crushed to pieces. but to embrace the world and lean into it, i may get to share the last bit of saving grace.

it's 2am and reno guys will march in at 9am sharp.

i need the sleep but i cannot sleep.

im anxious and i am worried.

so here i am, in surreal space which i cannot tell how it actually exists, i am invoking the real world that i must live in, with bright eyes, with ears that can hear, to wake up from the gripping hand of depression.

.... (grabs dirt, throws, splat!) ....

my gene pool (male) wonders if anyone reads this stuff. i have no idea. does it get read?
*disclaimer: i do sound like some big-inflated bobblehead full of hot-airs at this point when i read my own purging. ah.. hopefully theres at least a hope for a bit of schadenfreuden by watching this monkey make a fool out of self. in public, voluntarily. ha ha. gah...
i rant. on regular basis. it's something to behold, as it may as well become my favorite pastime and amusement, simultaneously. efficient. pointless. may be good?